Feeling strangely self-conscious, Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I like him."
"You what?"
Harry answered defensively. "He's not so bad once you get to know him."
"We've known him for over fifteen years," Ron shot back. "What's changed about him in the last three weeks?"
Surprised by how . . . protective he felt on Snape's behalf, Harry softly answered, "Maybe I've changed then. Maybe I stopped living in the past."
"Huh?"
"Well, think about it. Even when we finished school, we still treated him like we expected him to deduct house points from us just for breathing."
"That's because he would deduct house points from us for breathing if he still could," Ron argued.
Harry opened his mouth to protest, thought of Snape, and then laughed. "Well, perhaps you're right. He'd probably enjoy that."
"My God," Ron said, a stunned look on his face, "you really do like him. What's got into you? I leave you alone for three weeks and you end up mates with Snape!"
Harry knew he should be mad on Snape's behalf, but Ron just looked so horrified that he couldn't help but smile. "He's actually rather funny when you get to know him."
"We are talking about the humourless bastard who tortured us for seven years in class, right?"
"Ron, we were kids then. Think how Hermione or I would react if we caught first, second, and third year students prowling the halls at one a.m. the way he used to catch us."
"You wouldn't verbally crucify them or be spiteful and unjust to them in class," Ron answered. "This is the same guy who abhors all Gryffindors, who hated your father, and whom you blamed for Sirius' death, right?"
Harry sighed. "Most of that's ancient history."
"What about the abhorring Gryffindor part? That's not so ancient. Just last month, he -"
"I know," Harry said. "Look, I can't explain it or justify it, all right? I just . . . like talking to him. It's not a crime, is it?"
From Ron's expression, Harry would have thought he'd just announced a desire to eat hippogriff manure.
"No, not unless he's put you under Imperius." Ron seemed totally serious.
"Oh, for . . . !"
"Harry, you've got to admit it's weird as hell. The bastard's treated us like dirt for more than fifteen years, and suddenly he wants to talk to you? Why? There's got to be a reason."
"Did you ever think that maybe he's lonely? It's not like any of the staff go out of their way to talk to him," Harry said.
"Because he wants it that way. He's the one who snaps and snarls at everyone whenever they try to make polite conversation with him. If he's talking to you, he's got to want something from you."
"You sound just like him. Do you know that?" Harry commented.
"What?" Ron squawked.
"Severus says that the only time anyone troubles with him is when they need something from him. I've been watching over the last few weeks, Ron, and he's right. The only time anyone really speaks to him is if they want him to brew them a potion or help them with something."
"That's because he insists that people have a reason for bothering him," Ron replied. "You know that."
"Yeah, it's something of a vicious circle, isn't it?" Harry said.
"It's his own damn fault. He's the one who's vicious."
Realizing he was fighting a losing battle here, Harry vented a deep breath and said, "Maybe you're right. But I like him anyway. There isn't any harm in that, is there?"
Ron shook his head. "That would depend on what he's after."
"Let's not fight about this anymore." Knowing what he was setting himself up for, Harry asked, "Did you hear about Sunday's Cannons' game?"
The match had been an absolute disaster, and Ron's feelings on it were predictable. Still, hearing Ron gripe about his former team beat the hell out of having him disparage Snape.
He'd never been so relieved to have Hermione ordering them around as he was when she interrupted them fifteen minutes later to shoo them down to breakfast.
It appeared to be a day for startling surprises, Harry thought to himself three hours later. He'd just finished teaching his second period class, which was composed of third year Hufflepuff and Gryffindors, when a visibly tentative Carl Westfield approached him after class.
"Professor Potter?" Westfield asked, coming up to him at his desk as the rest of the class cleared out of the room.
"Yes, Carl? Did you need some help with the Grindylow Repulsion spell?" Harry asked, a little confused. Carl was one of his best students, outshining even the bravest Gryffindors and most devious Slytherins in his mastery of the Defence against the Dark Arts.
"No, I wondered if I could speak to you about . . . something personal?" Carl's uncertainty was almost palpable.
"Are you . . . all right?" Harry awkwardly questioned. Carl had been a lot quieter in class since the attack in October, but he seemed to be dealing with the events remarkably well. "You know that you're welcome here any time you need to speak to someone."
The shadow that passed across Carl's face immediately told Harry that he'd guessed wrong. But his student persevered with his usual courage and answered Harry's question with an honest, "Thank you. I'm doing all right. Professor Weasley wrote to my parents and suggested that I go to a Squib friend of hers for . . . counselling. I floo over a couple of days a week after class. Talking to the . . . physicist helps."
Harry stifled a smile. "I think it's 'psychiatrist', Carl."
The boy blushed. "Oh, I always get them mixed up."
"That's understandable," Harry said. "What can I do for you?"
Carl shifted uncomfortably and then said, "I, er, noticed that you and Professor Snape talk a lot at the teachers' table now."
After his discussion with Ron this morning, he was still smarting on Severus' behalf. Wondering if his student were about to disparage him for befriending Snape as well, he cautiously nodded. "That's right. I don't understand what that has to do with you, however."
Seeming to realize how inappropriate his remark was, Carl flushed and quickly said, "I was hoping that maybe you could talk to him for me."
"Talk to him?" Harry was totally lost now. "About what? I thought you were getting on all right in his class. Professor Snape told me how impressed he was by your courage in apologizing to him when you returned to class. I've asked him about you several times and he always says you're doing very well in Potions."
"That's just the problem," Carl said in a troubled tone.
"What is?" Harry asked, relaxing a little as he realized that the boy wasn't here out of concerns for his safety or because he couldn't stand facing Snape every day.
"Ever since . . . October . . . whenever I get my homework and tests back from Professor Snape, he takes one point off for wrong answers, while he takes ten or even fifteen off Joe and Don's papers for exactly the same answer. It's, er, getting a little weird, Professor Potter."
Harry stared into those troubled eyes and found himself unable to repress his smile. "I think that, in his own way, Professor Snape is trying to . . . reassure you that you have nothing to fear from him."
"I guess. He doesn't even yell at me in class or get snarky with me anymore. He treats me like he usually treats the Slytherins," Carl complained.
Harry knew that he shouldn't lightly dismiss his student's concerns, but he couldn't help but say, "Just be happy he doesn't treat you like a Gryffindor."
Carl burst out laughing. "Yeah. I guess that would be worse. But, seriously, Professor Potter, what am I going to do? I can't really ask him . . . to stop being nice to me, but it's getting on my nerves. It's already hard enough going to class everyday with everybody knowing what happened to me. Professor Snape's giving me special treatment only reminds me of . . . it."
All levity abruptly leaving the situation, Harry looked at Carl and promised, "I'll talk to him tonight. I'm sure he's not trying to . . . make you uncomfortable."
"I know. He's just trying to make up for what happened, I think, but he doesn't have anything to make up for," Carl said.
"Not many people in your situation would be able to see that so clearly," Harry said. "I know Professor Snape still feels uncomfortable that his image was used to hurt you."
Looking a little pale, Carl nodded, "I know. Sometimes, it's still hard to separate what really happened from . . . the false stuff. But I know Professor Snape didn't do anything bad to me."
Impressed by how the young man was dealing with a situation that would have destroyed a weaker person, Harry softly admitted, "I'm very proud of you, Carl."
Carl flushed with pleasure and nodded. "Thanks. I should probably get to class now."
"Do you need a note?" Harry asked.
Carl gave him a long look, shook his head, and said with an embarrassed smile, "Probably not. It's Potions class."
Biting back his own smile as he realized how extreme the situation must be if a student were comfortable breezing into Snape's Potions class ten minutes late without a written excuse from another teacher, Harry said, "I'll give you one, anyway. And I'll talk to him about it tonight. I promise."
"Thanks, Professor Potter."
After hastily scrawling an excuse on a nearby piece of parchment, Harry watched his student leave the classroom.
He hadn't lied when he'd said he was proud of Carl. The boy was handling the trauma like a real trooper. But at the moment, Carl wasn't the only person he was proud of.
Severus' preferential treatment might be disconcerting to Carl, but Harry was touched that Severus was trying to make the boy more comfortable around him. The ogre of his younger days would never have bothered to try to ease the boy's fear. Harry wasn't sure if Severus had really changed so much over the last few weeks, or if he were simply beginning to see through the man's smokescreens.
The closer he got to Severus, the more he had begun to realize how poorly socialized Severus really was. It was more than simply bitterness and malice that motivated much of Severus' poor behaviour. Harry was beginning to recognize that Severus really didn't know how to behave in many situations, and there were few as stressful as the one he now found himself in with Carl Westfield. Harry felt like he was walking on eggs around Carl himself most days. He couldn't imagine how much worse it must be for Severus.
Still, Harry found the awkward way Severus was attempting to make amends for what had been done to Carl in his image strangely touching.
As his next class began to drift noisily into the DADA classroom, Harry resolved to address the subject with Severus tonight. But carefully. It was a delicate situation, and he didn't want to offend Severus.
Six hours later, Harry was sitting across from Severus at what he'd come to think of as their table in the Three Broomsticks' quiet backroom.
Harry sipped his drink, watching the subtle flashes of expression that played across Severus' candlelit, strong-boned face as Severus spoke of some discovery he'd made this afternoon. As usual for a school night, the backroom was empty and they had the place to themselves.
"When I added the goldenseal, the potion turned bright orange and . . . ." Severus abruptly stopped speaking.
"And?" Harry prompted, unable to place the expression on Severus' face.
"You can't really be interested in the gruelling details of potion experimentation. I didn't intend to run on as I did," Severus softly said.
"You weren't running on. I asked you what you did this afternoon," Harry reminded him.
"Still, you can't really want to hear the particulars of the experiment," Severus said, pushing the oily wings of his hair clear of his eyes.
"I mightn't understand a lot of what you're talking about, but I can follow it well enough to know that you've done something special," Harry admitted. "Friends share their triumphs and challenges with each other. I understand Higher Arithmancy even less than I do Potions, but Hermione is always telling me about the latest problem she's working on. Friends share this kind of thing."
"Friends?" Severus repeated, his sudden tension telling Harry that he'd been deeply startled. At least the one word question wasn't dripping with sarcasm as it would have been a month ago.
Sometimes, Harry felt like he was dealing with someone raised on another planet. He couldn't comprehend why Severus would accept his invitation to this kind of quiet socializing if he didn't consider them friends. Holding onto his temper, he quietly said, "You spend time with me. You listen to my problems. I consider you a friend. Whether you want to own up to being mine or not is up to you."
Harry turned his gaze to the bowl of crisps that sat on the table between them, covering his uncertainty by taking a handful. He didn't understand why he kept stumbling into these kinds of issues with Severus. When he'd requested this state of détente last month, he'd simply thought that their working relationship would become less combative. He'd never imagined he'd be spending this much time in Snape's company or be actively seeking the man out as he did. Nor had he ever expected that he'd be having arguments with Ron like he'd had this morning over Severus.
"Denial of one's reality is both fruitless and hypocritical, don't you think?" Severus said after what felt like the longest pause in history.
Harry's chin snapped back up and a wide smile spread across his face. It was a small thing, but it felt like a major victory to him. Severus hadn't actually called him his friend, but that's what that whole 'denying reality' was intended to convey without the open declaration. For whatever reason, Severus seemed nearly fundamentally incapable of openly declaring his affections and likes, which Harry didn't get, because Severus was quite articulate when it came to voicing his disapproval and dislikes.
